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Countess Rostova, with her daughters and a large number of
guests, was already seated in the drawing room. The count took
the gentlemen into his study and showed them his choice collection
of Turkish pipes. From time to time he went out to ask: "Hasn't
she come yet?" They were expecting Marya Dmitrievna Akhrosimova,
known in society as le terrible dragon, a lady distinguished not
for wealth or rank, but for common sense and frank plainness of
speech. Marya Dmitrievna was known to the Imperial family as well
as to all Moscow and Petersburg, and both cities wondered at her,
laughed privately at her rudenesses, and told good stories about
her, while none the less all without exception respected and feared
her.
In the count's room, which was full of tobacco smoke, they
talked of war that had been announced in a manifesto, and about
the recruiting. None of them had yet seen the manifesto, but they
all knew it had appeared. The count sat on the sofa between two
guests who were smoking and talking. He neither smoked nor talked,
but bending his head first to one side and then to the other watched
the smokers with evident pleasure and listened to the conversation
of his two neighbors, whom he egged on against each other.
One of them was a sallow, clean-shaven civilian with a thin
and wrinkled face, already growing old, though he was dressed
like a most fashionable young man. He sat with his legs up on
the sofa as if quite at home and, having stuck an amber mouthpiece
far into his mouth, was inhaling the smoke spasmodically and screwing
up his eyes. This was an old bachelor, Shinshin, a cousin of the
countess', a man with "a sharp tongue" as they said
in Moscow society. He seemed to be condescending to his companion.
The latter, a fresh, rosy officer of the Guards, irreproachably
washed, brushed, and buttoned, held his pipe in the middle of
his mouth and with red lips gently inhaled the smoke, letting
it escape from his handsome mouth in rings. This was Lieutenant
Berg, an officer in the Semenov regiment with whom Boris was to
travel to join the army, and about whom Natasha had, teased her
elder sister Vera, speaking of Berg as her "intended."
The count sat between them and listened attentively. His favorite
occupation when not playing boston, a card game he was very fond
of, was that of listener, especially when he succeeded in setting
two loquacious talkers at one another.
"Well, then, old chap, mon tres honorable Alphonse Karlovich,"
said Shinshin, laughing ironically and mixing the most ordinary
Russian expressions with the choicest French phrases- which was
a peculiarity of his speech. "Vous comptez vous faire des
rentes sur l'etat;* you want to make something out of your company?"
*You expect to make an income out of the government.
"No, Peter Nikolaevich; I only want to show that in the
cavalry the advantages are far less than in the infantry. Just
consider my own position now, Peter Nikolaevich..."
Berg always spoke quietly, politely, and with great precision.
His conversation always related entirely to himself; he would
remain calm and silent when the talk related to any topic that
had no direct bearing on himself. He could remain silent for hours
without being at all put out of countenance himself or making
others uncomfortable, but as soon as the conversation concerned
himself he would begin to talk circumstantially and with evident
satisfaction.
"Consider my position, Peter Nikolaevich. Were I in the
cavalry I should get not more than two hundred rubles every four
months, even with the rank of lieutenant; but as it is I receive
two hundred and thirty," said he, looking at Shinshin and
the count with a joyful, pleasant smile, as if it were obvious
to him that his success must always be the chief desire of everyone
else.
"Besides that, Peter Nikolaevich, by exchanging into
the Guards I shall be in a more prominent position," continued
Berg, "and vacancies occur much more frequently in the Foot
Guards. Then just think what can be done with two hundred and
thirty rubles! I even manage to put a little aside and to send
something to my father," he went on, emitting a smoke ring.
"La balance y est...* A German knows how to skin a flint,
as the proverb says," remarked Shinshin, moving his pipe
to the other side of his mouth and winking at the count.
*So that squares matters.
The count burst out laughing. The other guests seeing that
Shinshin was talking came up to listen. Berg, oblivious of irony
or indifference, continued to explain how by exchanging into the
Guards he had already gained a step on his old comrades of the
Cadet Corps; how in wartime the company commander might get killed
and he, as senior in the company, might easily succeed to the
post; how popular he was with everyone in the regiment, and how
satisfied his father was with him. Berg evidently enjoyed narrating
all this, and did not seem to suspect that others, too, might
have their own interests. But all he said was so prettily sedate,
and the naivete of his youthful egotism was so obvious, that he
disarmed his hearers.
"Well, my boy, you'll get along wherever you go- foot
or horse- that I'll warrant," said Shinshin, patting him
on the shoulder and taking his feet off the sofa.
Berg smiled joyously. The count, by his guests, went into
the drawing room.
It was just the moment before a big dinner when the assembled
guests, expecting the summons to zakuska,* avoid engaging in any
long conversation but think it necessary to move about and talk,
in order to show that they are not at all impatient for their
food. The host and hostess look toward the door, and now and then
glance at one another, and the visitors try to guess from these
glances who, or what, they are waiting for- some important relation
who has not yet arrived, or a dish that is not yet ready.
*Hors d'oeuvres.
Pierre had come just at dinnertime and was sitting awkwardly
in the middle of the drawing room on the first chair he had come
across, blocking the way for everyone. The countess tried to make
him talk, but he went on naively looking around through his spectacles
as if in search of somebody and answered all her questions in
monosyllables. He was in the way and was the only one who did
not notice the fact. Most of the guests, knowing of the affair
with the bear, looked with curiosity at this big, stout, quiet
man, wondering how such a clumsy, modest fellow could have played
such a prank on a policeman.
"You have only lately arrived?" the countess asked
him.
"Oui, madame," replied he, looking around him.
"You have not yet seen my husband?"
"Non, madame." He smiled quite inappropriately.
"You have been in Paris recently, I believe? I suppose
it's very interesting."
"Very interesting."
The countess exchanged glances with Anna Mikhaylovna. The
latter understood that she was being asked to entertain this young
man, and sitting down beside him she began to speak about his
father; but he answered her, as he had the countess, only in monosyllables.
The other guests were all conversing with one another. "The
Razumovskis... It was charming... You are very kind... Countess
Apraksina..." was heard on all sides. The countess rose and
went into the ballroom.
"Marya Dmitrievna?" came her voice from there.
"Herself," came the answer in a rough voice, and
Marya Dmitrievna entered the room.
All the unmarried ladies and even the married ones except
the very oldest rose. Marya Dmitrievna paused at the door. Tall
and stout, holding high her fifty-year-old head with its gray
curls, she stood surveying the guests, and leisurely arranged
her wide sleeves as if rolling them up. Marya Dmitrievna always
spoke in Russian.
"Health and happiness to her whose name day we are keeping
and to her children," she said, in her loud, full-toned voice
which drowned all others. "Well, you old sinner," she
went on, turning to the count who was kissing her hand, "you're
feeling dull in Moscow, I daresay? Nowhere to hunt with your dogs?
But what is to be done, old man? Just see how these nestlings
are growing up," and she pointed to the girls. "You
must look for husbands for them whether you like it or not...."
Well," said she, "how's my Cossack?" (Marya
Dmitrievna always called Natasha a Cossack) and she stroked the
child's arm as she came up fearless and gay to kiss her hand.
"I know she's a scamp of a girl, but I like her."
She took a pair of pear-shaped ruby earrings from her huge
reticule and, having given them to the rosy Natasha, who beamed
with the pleasure of her saint's-day fete, turned away at once
and addressed herself to Pierre.
"Eh, eh, friend! Come here a bit," said she, assuming
a soft high tone of voice. "Come here, my friend..."
and she ominously tucked up her sleeves still higher. Pierre approached,
looking at her in a childlike way through his spectacles.
"Come nearer, come nearer, friend! I used to be the only
one to tell your father the truth when he was in favor, and in
your case it's my evident duty." She paused. All were silent,
expectant of what was to follow, for this was dearly only a prelude.
"A fine lad! My word! A fine lad!... His father lies
on his deathbed and he amuses himself setting a policeman astride
a bear! For shame, sir, for shame! It would be better if you went
to the war."
She turned away and gave her hand to the count, who could
hardly keep from laughing.
"Well, I suppose it is time we were at table?" said
Marya Dmitrievna.
The count went in first with Marya Dmitrievna, the countess
followed on the arm of a colonel of hussars, a man of importance
to them because Nicholas was to go with him to the regiment; then
came Anna Mikhaylovna with Shinshin. Berg gave his arm to Vera.
The smiling Julie Karagina went in with Nicholas. After them other
couples followed, filling the whole dining hall, and last of all
the children, tutors, and governesses followed singly. The footmen
began moving about, chairs scraped, the band struck up in the
gallery, and the guests settled down in their places. Then the
strains of the count's household band were replaced by the clatter
of knives and forks, the voices of visitors, and the soft steps
of the footmen. At one end of the table sat the countess with
Marya Dmitrievna on her right and Anna Mikhaylovna on her left,
the other lady visitors were farther down. At the other end sat
the count, with the hussar colonel on his left and Shinshin and
the other male visitors on his right. Midway down the long table
on one side sat the grownup young people: Vera beside Berg, and
Pierre beside Boris; and on the other side, the children, tutors,
and governesses. From behind the crystal decanters and fruit vases
the count kept glancing at his wife and her tall cap with its
light-blue ribbons, and busily filled his neighbors' glasses,
not neglecting his own. The countess in turn, without omitting
her duties as hostess, threw significant glances from behind the
pineapples at her husband whose face and bald head seemed by their
redness to contrast more than usual with his gray hair. At the
ladies' end an even chatter of voices was heard all the time,
at the men's end the voices sounded louder and louder, especially
that of the colonel of hussars who, growing more and more flushed,
ate and drank so much that the count held him up as a pattern
to the other guests. Berg with tender smiles was saying to Vera
that love is not an earthly but a heavenly feeling. Boris was
telling his new friend Pierre who the guests were and exchanging
glances with Natasha, who was sitting opposite. Pierre spoke little
but examined the new faces, and ate a great deal. Of the two soups
he chose turtle with savory patties and went on to the game without
omitting a single dish or one of the wines. These latter the butler
thrust mysteriously forward, wrapped in a napkin, from behind
the next man's shoulders and whispered: "Dry Madeira"...
"Hungarian"... or "Rhine wine" as the case
might be. Of the four crystal glasses engraved with the count's
monogram that stood before his plate, Pierre held out one at random
and drank with enjoyment, gazing with ever-increasing amiability
at the other guests. Natasha, who sat opposite, was looking at
Boris as girls of thirteen look at the boy they are in love with
and have just kissed for the first time. Sometimes that same look
fell on Pierre, and that funny lively little girl's look made
him inclined to laugh without knowing why.
Nicholas sat at some distance from Sonya, beside Julie Karagina,
to whom he was again talking with the same involuntary smile.
Sonya wore a company smile but was evidently tormented by jealousy;
now she turned pale, now blushed and strained every nerve to overhear
what Nicholas and Julie were saying to one another. The governess
kept looking round uneasily as if preparing to resent any slight
that might be put upon the children. The German tutor was trying
to remember all the dishes, wines, and kinds of dessert, in order
to send a full description of the dinner to his people in Germany;
and he felt greatly offended when the butler with a bottle wrapped
in a napkin passed him by. He frowned, trying to appear as if
he did not want any of that wine, but was mortified because no
one would understand that it was not to quench his thirst or from
greediness that he wanted it, but simply from a conscientious
desire for knowledge.
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